


A Fruit Tree in Winter

by LadyWhizbee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Snow, Surprises, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 03:43:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWhizbee/pseuds/LadyWhizbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter. Who would think that those branches would turn green again and blossom, but we hope it, we know it.</p><p> </p><p>Harry and Ginny Christmas fluff. There's snow, there's Neville, there's anticipation, there's surprise and then, to top it all off, there's even more fluff. Merry Christmas, everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fruit Tree in Winter

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't my world. I only play in it. 
> 
> Thank you to all my lovely betas, you have helped me more than you can ever imagine. *HUGS ALL*

 

  
_“Sometimes our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter._

_Who would think that those branches would turn green again and blossom,_

_but we hope it, we know it.”_

– Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

 

*******

  
The first snow of winter came in a swirl, soft, light and intoxicating, just enough of it to lace the windows and evergreen boughs, but not enough to linger anywhere significant. The crisp air stung, turning noses red on contact, but the shops offering mulled cider or hot cocoa countered the chill with warmth, sanctuary and mirth.  
  
Winter had finally arrived on Diagon Alley.  
  
The bells jingled as shoppers stepped in and out of brightly lit shops, and Ginny pulled her muffler tighter around her neck. Her bags of Christmas presents swinging happily beside her, she hummed a tune just under her breath and burrowed her nose deeper into her muffler. The thought of her mother’s face upon her arrival home tonight made her grin.  
  
Mum had no idea—no idea at all—that Ginny would be home for Christmas.  
  
Her winter break from the Harpies was an unexpected gift. And a present that she was more than happy to receive—and share—with her family.  
  
Her mother often sent her owls, inviting her for breakfast, for afternoon tea, or for Sunday dinner. It really didn’t matter as long as she could come. _Sometime. Anytime. Just once_. But her intense training schedule kept her so increasingly busy that even small trips to Devon became practically impossible. It had been a month since she had been home, let alone seen anyone else she cared about, and even then her visit was only for an hour to have a cup of tea. But now she had time. She had _loads_ of it.  
  
And she had an owl from Harry.  
  
She rubbed her finger along the frayed edge of it in her pocket. She had read its few words more times than she would care to admit to anyone. But she had a reason. A _good_ reason. It had been a full year since she had started her Quidditch training program, ten months since Harry had left the country in search of the remaining Death Eaters, and three months since his last letter. This separation from Harry had been oh-so-familiar, but at the same time more painful, more acute. She was required to live in the team dormitories with few breaks, Harry was traveling and rarely in the country. She loved Quidditch, the thrill of it--but going without Harry was now like going without water. This letter, the one now tucked safely in her pocket, was just what she had needed in the moment she had needed it. A drop of water. _Hope._  
  
“Ginny!”  
  
She grinned at Hannah as she entered the Leaky Cauldron. The wash of warm air and the smell of delicious food as welcome to her in that moment as Hannah’s generous smile.

Ginny rushed to give her a hug. “How are you?”  
  
“Oh! You’re _freezing,”_ Hannah said, rubbing Ginny’s arms and wheeling her towards the fire. She called back over her shoulder, “Neville! Come, look—look who’s here.”  
  
It didn’t take long to see his familiar face with his mop of brown hair, and Ginny dropped her bags just in time as he darted to catch her in a whirl.  
  
“Eh, stranger!” He laughed putting her back down on her feet, with huge grin and eyes bright. “Just look at you.”  
  
Ginny beamed. It was impossible not to. She swept her gaze around the room. “I can’t believe what you’ve done to the Leaky.  I don’t even recognize it, and it smells _fantastic.”_  
  
“That would be the mulled cider,” Hannah smiled. “Would you care for some?”

“Yes.” Ginny nodded eagerly. “Please.”  
  
“The changes you see are all Hannah,” Neville said, ushering her toward the bar. “I can’t take any credit at all.”  
  
“Oh hush, you helped.” Hannah spoke up from behind the counter.  
  
“With teaching school and everything? Absolutely not. You did everything.”  
  
“I couldn’t have done it without you and you know it.” Hannah shook her head, a faint blush high on her cheeks. “So Ginny, how are you? You look wonderful.”  
  
“Thanks.” Ginny smiled, sliding onto a bar stool. She willingly cupped her hands around the hot cider that Hannah pushed her way. “I’m good—busy—but good. The Harpies have the next two weeks off from training so I’m headed home to spend the hols with my family.”  
  
“Your mum must be—”  
  
“She doesn’t know.” Ginny grinned over the rim of her drink.  
  
“No!” Hannah burst.

Neville grinned. “A surprise then?”

“Yes. A great big fat wonderful surprise.”

“Does Ron know?” Neville asked, sitting on the seat beside hers. “He and Harry were just—”  
  
“Nev—” Hannah cut him off with a warning look.  
  
“Oh, that’s right.” Neville’s cheeks went red. “Damn.”  
  
“What?” Ginny put her drink down with a thud. “What is it?”  
  
Neville looked sheepish as he bit his lip. “I can’t tell you.”  
  
“What do you mean, you can’t tell me?” Ginny looked from Neville to Hannah and back again. “Is something wrong?”  
  
“Nothing’s wrong.”  
  
“But then why can’t you—”  
  
“It’s a surprise, Ginny.” Hannah stopped her, catching her before she fully met her stride. “That’s all. It’s just a surprise.”  
  
“Oh,” Ginny sat back in her chair nursing this new thought. “And Harry? He’s in on this surprise, too?”  
  
“It was his idea,” Neville supplied.  
  
“Well, that will be easy then—I’ll just force him to tell me as soon as I see him at The Burrow.”  
  
“But you won’t see him, now will you?” Neville shook his head. “He and Ron are out of the country on assignment.”  
  
“What?” Ginny paled. “Where?  For Christmas?”  
  
This didn’t sound like a happy surprise. This sounded like a horrible, miserable, no good nightmarish surprise. How was she supposed to rekindle anything with Harry if he wasn’t even around to be kindled?  
  
“We don’t know how long he’ll be gone,” Hannah soothed, looking pointedly at Neville. “Do we?”  
  
“No,” Neville said, choosing to study a small crack in the bar rather than look at Ginny. “No, we don’t.”

Everything in his demeanor led her to believe that he _did_ know. He just wasn’t allowed to say.  
  
“Seriously, Neville.” Ginny shook her head. “You are the _worst_ liar.”  
  
“Yes, but he’s so adorable,” Hannah sighed, giving him a soft smile. She turned to look at Ginny. “Listen, we can’t tell you anything—just know that it’s all good. You don’t need to worry, and Harry will be home soon.”  
  
Soon? But how soon was soon?  
  
His Auror missions frequently took him away for months—how could she be certain that he would be back before the holidays were over? Or worse, before she had to return to training? She couldn’t bear the thought of missing him, missing another opportunity to see him. Their checkered past was littered with missed opportunities already…and the thought of one more...  
  
Ginny sighed.  
  
What was she going to do?

*****

  
Ginny half-walked, half ran down the marble corridor of the Ministry, the heels of her boots clicking loudly as she went. She ignored the strange looks from the employees who seemed to think it odd that someone should be in such a hurry while carrying bags of Christmas presents deep into the heart of the Ministry—but she was, and she didn’t care what they thought. She needed to find the one person who would know the answer to her most pressing question.  
  
“Hermione!” Ginny swung open the door to her sister-in-laws office. It hit the wall with a bang.  
  
Hermione lurched in her chair, nearly toppling a stack of Ministry parchments to the floor. “Ginny?”

  
“Where are Harry and Ron?” she asked without preamble, stepping into the cozy office and dropping her shopping bags to the floor just inside the door.  
  
“Oh!” Hermione burst out of her chair and dashed to catch her in a bone-crushing hug. “How are you? I didn’t know you had a break from the Harpies—when did you—?”  
  
“That’s not important right now.” Ginny squeezed her back while brushing a lock of frizzy brown hair from her mouth. “Where are they?”  
  
“I’m not certain.” Hermione shrugged, pulling back arms length. “Eastern Europe? Ron couldn’t tell me.”  
  
“But you’re his wife!”  
  
“That doesn’t mean that he can tell me _everything_ about where he’s going or about his missions.”  
  
“Yes, but—” Ginny rubbed her forehead. “Will they be home for Christmas?”  
  
Hermione gestured for her to sit. “Tea?”

“No.” Ginny plunked down into an armchair across from her desk. “Thanks.”  
  
“I don’t know for certain when they’ll be back, but I should think before Christmas,” Hermione said while pouring a cup for herself. “He’ll be in loads of trouble if he isn’t. We’re supposed to go to your parents for Christmas Eve, my parents for Christmas brunch and your parents again for Christmas tea. Why have you heard something?”  
  
“No.”  
  
 _“Nothing?”_

“Hermione, how would I have heard anything? I’ve been holed up in Scotland, haven’t I?”  
  
“Yes, but then why are you so worried about when they'll…”  
  
Ginny sighed, sagging back against her chair.  
  
“Oh.” Hermione’s face softened sympathetically. "Harry."  
  
“Of course, Harry.” Ginny flapped her hand. “It’s been ten months since I’ve seen him, Hermione. _Ten months_. And I finally have a decent break from Quidditch—over the holidays no less—and he isn’t here.” Ginny bit her lip. “Sometimes I wonder…”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I just…well, what with all the starts…and stops…and the distance…” She studied her hands. “What if Harry and I just aren’t meant to be?”  
  
“Seriously?” There was actually amusement in Hermione’s voice. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”  
  
She groaned, looking up. “No, no of course not. But why does it have to be so bloody hard?”  
  
“Because no one said it would be easy.” Hermione said shrewdly. “Not for you, and certainly not for Harry.”  
  
“Well, it should be.”  
  
“Perhaps so, but whether it is or it isn’t you have to decide if it’s worth fighting for,” Hermione stirred her tea watching her closely. “So is it?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Worth fighting for.”

“Yes, of course it is.”  
  
“Then it seems pretty straightforward to me.” Hermione shrugged, setting her tea down. “Go and fight for it.”

*****

  
Perhaps it seemed straightforward, but the task was not an easy one when she had no idea where Harry was.  
  
So Ginny went home as originally planned. Her mother’s glee at seeing her dispelled her thoughts of Harry for an hour or two, but it wasn’t long before they wandered back to him again. Her restlessness acute, she spent most of the next two days trying to stay busy.  
  
The gentle snow of London was not to be found in Devon, instead it had fallen thick and fast at The Burrow covering the ground with a layer that was wonderfully wet and deep. The house stood fully nestled under thick layers of it, and it wasn’t long before the outdoors called to her.  
  
There she could think. She also found great satisfaction in tromping her way through the snow, forging new paths with deep foot-holes. The exercise was exhilarating. The winter air chilled her lungs and caught her breath frozen on the air. Her mittened fingers numbed no matter how many warming charms she performed, yet she still walked. And walked. And walked. And thought. And thought. And thought.  
  
She took a different course each day. Today she wrapped her way through the woods until she edged upon the orchard. The apple trees were thoroughly banked in snow, top-hats adorning every branch—even the broken ones that littered the garden.  
  
Ginny stopped to sit on a broken limb, her hand curling around the barren trunk. She had forgotten how odd the dormant apple trees looked. Their squat wide sweeping girth, accompanied drooping arms and pointy-straight fingers stretching for the sky. No other tree could ever be mistaken for it. Not ever. Particularly in the winter when every limb and finger lay exposed for the world to see, waiting for the spring.  
  
They were unusual trees, really, and even a little bit ugly. And yet in the spring—in the spring—a more beautiful explosion could not be found. Apple blossoms everywhere—thick and lush, pink or white with bright green shoots to follow, showering the ground with spent petals. A beautiful reminder of what a dormant winter brought. Not to mention the fruit—juicy, sticky and sweet.  
  
It was a giving tree.  
  
It was also a tough tree—not that it wasn’t easy to break a branch. The gentlest of summer storms would do that, but it was resilient. It would always bounce back, covering the broken spot with shoots of new growth. Always new growth—turning green, sprouting new flowers and finally new fruit even after intensely cold winters. Just like clockwork.  
  
It was beautiful really.  
  
 _Just like…_  
  
The silence of the orchard was interrupted by the sound of Apparition. Three small pops. One louder than the rest.  
  
Ginny turned her head in the direction of the familiar sound. Whoever had just arrived had not Apparated into the orchard, but instead to the road that led to the front path of The Burrow—just on the other side of the orchard and out of view.  
  
Ginny stood, anticipation humming through her veins. One thought filled her brain.  
  
 _Harry._  
  
The snow was deep and even though she was used to navigating it by now, it still slowed her down more than she would have liked. Frustrated she growled continuing to walk-run-sink until her foot-falls found her way up the embankment and onto the road, far behind the three arrivals. Panting and out of breath, she stretched a hitch out of her side and squinted ahead in the dimming light.  
  
Her heart raced; Harry was one of the three. She could just make out his dark hair and red muffler. Ron was another—his tall form and shoulders peppered with snow. And the last…the last was familiar, too, but not who she expected at all. His broad shoulders and short-cropped red hair just tucked under a cap, it reminded her of... Ginny gasped.  
  
“Charlie!”  
  
He turned on a coin, a wide grin plastering his face. Ginny matched it. A new wind giving her a burst of speed she ran at him, snow boots clunking, and leapt, throwing her arms around his bear-like girth. He shook with laughter and squeezed her back, her feet dangling off the ground until he put her down again.  
  
“What are you _doing_ here?” Ginny stepped back breathless, beaming up at him.  
  
“I should ask you the same, I think.”  
  
“Break—winter break, two weeks,” she rushed, glancing at Harry. He grinned at her and Ginny fought the urge to throw herself at him, too. Instead she looked back at Charlie. “So? Tell me! Mum will be beside herself—how long are you here?”  
  
“Christmas at least.” Charlie shrugged. “I’m not certain. This is all last minute—Harry and Ron came all the way to Romania to convince me to come home, even if just for the holiday.”  
  
“What?” Ginny’s gaze found Harry’s again. “Really?”  
  
“A surprise.” Harry nodded. “For your mum.”  
  
 _A surprise._ Ginny stepped forward and took his hand. What a wonderful surprise. “Mum will be thrilled.”  
  
“She’s missed you both.” Harry nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. “I bet she’s pretty thrilled that you’re here, too.”  
  
Ginny smiled. “I think the whole valley knew by the shriek she let loose when I arrived.”  
  
Harry grinned.  
  
“Speaking of arrivals—” Ginny turned to Ron. “Does Hermione know that you’re back?”  
  
“I sent her an owl this morning—but—” Ron glanced at his watch. “I should probably—”  
  
“Why don’t you go home?” Charlie offered. “It’s not as if I don’t know my way from here.”  
  
Ron snorted. “Yeah—and miss Mum’s reaction? No way. I’ll stay long enough to see the explosion, then I’ll leave. Coming Harry?”

“In a minute.” Harry squeezed Ginny’s hand and her gaze drifted to meet his again. She wasn’t going anywhere, not without him. “We’ll be along in a minute.”  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Come on, Charlie, we don’t want to witness this.”  
  
Charlie gave Harry a teasing look before speaking to him in Romanian, "Ai grija. Sau ii spun ce s-a intamplat cand dragonul ala te-a luat prin surprindere in Ceahlau."  
  
"Da?" Harry cocked an eyebrow at Charlie. "Atunci ii spun si eu totul despre Alina."  
  
Ginny was shocked to hear Harry speaking Romanian, but even more flabbergasted to see Charlie sputter his response. "N-ai indrazni asa ceva."

"Ba da." Harry grinned.  
  
Ron laughed and slapped Charlie on the back. “See, I told you he’d make a good Weasley.”  
  
Charlie snorted, but Ginny could see that he agreed with Ron. As the two of them walked up the road towards The Burrow, Ginny grinned up at Harry.  
  
“I didn’t know that you could speak Romanian.”  
  
Harry shrugged. “Dolohov took to hiding in Romania. Charlie taught Ron and me both a little so that we could talk with the locals.”  
  
“Did you find him?”  
  
“Who? Dolohov?” Harry asked. “He’s in Azkaban now.”  
  
Ginny nodded, slinking her arms around his waist. She was so proud of him, but he didn’t want or need to hear her to say it. So she hoped that he could see it in the way she looked at him.  
  
“So, when did you arrive?” he asked, brushing the hair off her cheek with his fingers. There were ice crystals on the tips of his gloves.  
  
“Two days ago,” Ginny replied, reaching up to play with the lapel of his cloak. His lips looked so enticing. Oh, how she had missed…  
  
“Yeah?” he whispered, leaning towards her.  
  
“Yeah.” She reached up to meet him half way, and then they were kissing—long and wonderful and deep. The cold rim of his glasses brushed against her cheek.  
  
Everything else in the world was forgotten, but the feel of his lips on hers, warm and soft and lovely. It was like falling back into herself, so familiar, wonderful, and good—and everything burst to color and life right before her eyes. Just like the apple tree in spring, she felt alive again.  
  
“Hi,” she breathed after they broke apart.  
  
“Hi,” he replied softly, reaching up to touch a lock of her hair  
  
“I was worried that I wouldn’t see you,” Ginny admitted, leaning into his chest. “That I’d miss you completely…”  
  
“I’m here now.”  
  
“Yes, but…”  
  
“I was going to come and kidnap you—from Scotland.”  
  
Her eyes flew open at this. “You were?”  
  
“Yes, after we dropped Charlie off at The Burrow. I couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing you over Christmas.”  
  
“Really?”

“I’ve been mental without you—ask Ron. I mean, I can’t—I don’t –” He shook his head. “I thought it would be easier if I was out of the country during your rookie year—but all it did was make me miss you more. I’ve been miserable, Ginny. Miserable.”  
  
She took his hand. _Poor Harry._ “My year of training is over next month.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“And once I’m done I won’t have to live in the dormitory anymore.”  
  
“Yeah, I know that too. I’ve been counting the days.”  
  
Ginny laughed at this, an image of Harry ticking the days off a calendar flicking though her brain.  
  
“So…” she breathed again, Hermione’s words echoing in her ears. It was all she had thought about over the last two days—what she wanted. And she knew. Without a doubt, what it was. Anticipation began to thrum under her skin. “So then…I was thinking…perhaps…marry me?”  
  
Harry stopped fingering her hair. His eyes locked with hers. “What?”  
  
“Marry me.”  
  
A small smile played on the corners of his lips. “I thought I was the one who was supposed to ask.”  
  
“Yeah, well.” Ginny shrugged. “Marry me?” A slight flutter of panic filled her stomach. “I mean—not tomorrow or anything. Sometime—you know, when we’re both ready and everything and—”  
  
“But what if I already have a ring?”  
  
“You—” Her heart stopped. “What?”  
  
He reached into his pocket. “What if I already have a ring?”  
  
Her breath caught as she saw it, sitting outstretched in his hand. A silver band, beautiful and simple, with an engraved pattern in gold along each edge and a simple diamond in the center. “I bought it at a shop in Romania. I liked it—it looked like you. And I thought, what with Quidditch, this wouldn’t get in your way or anything and—”  
  
Throwing herself at him in a tangle of arms, she kissed him. Eagerness naturally deepened into something slower and more deliberate until her hands were clutching the scratchy fabric of his cloak and his hands were tangled in her hair, and if it had been possible to melt entirely into him she would have done.  
  
“So?” he asked as they broke apart. The tip of his nose was red from the cold and the sunset made his glasses darker against his skin somehow. His eyes flickered as they locked with hers. “Is that as a yes?”  
  
Ginny grinned and nodded.  
  
He laughed his deep laugh and hugged her then, lifting her so that her boots dangled just off the ground, and spun her in a circle. Ginny laughed, too, catching a passing view of the dormant trees in the orchard. Once, twice, three times—and then, as if the whole world hung on a string above them—Ginny knew that, once again, life was ripe and full, and ready for the plucking.  And that, together, they would taste it.

 

 

 

*****

  
 _A rough translation of the Romanian dialog above:_  
  
“Behave, or I’ll tell her what happened when that dragon startled you in Ceahlau."  
“Yeah?” Harry cocked an eyebrow. “If you do that then I’ll tell her all about Alina.”  
Charlie sputtered his response. “You wouldn’t.”  
“I would.” Harry grinned.

 

  
*****


End file.
